


(We) Play the Game

by DoreyG



Series: Always a Girl!Batman Verse [2]
Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: (Or Batmobile Sex), Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Sex, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Episode Tag: Harley and Ivy, F/M, First Time, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 18:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2631608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Aw, <i>Bats</i>. I didn’t know you <i>cared</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	(We) Play the Game

The Joker opens his eyes the very _moment_ that they’re out of danger – stretches until his fingers brush the upholstery of the Batmobile ceiling, gives a casual yawn and _pointedly_ greets her glare with a flashing grin, “aw, _Bats_. I didn’t know you _cared_.”

She debates, briefly, just stopping the Batmobile and dumping the Joker head first on the nearest hard surface.

She settles, instead, for a _justifiably_ hard jerk of the wheel – takes a certain amount of pleasure in the way that the Joker’s head _almost_ bounces off the window, “I wasn’t going to leave you to die.”

“Because you _care_ , Batsy,” the Joker’s grin is still bright in the darkness of the Batmobile, the risk of serious injury doesn’t seem to have phased him at _all_ , “Oh, _darling_. I have been waiting _years_ for this day-!”

“I refuse to leave anybody to die,” she hisses flatly, ignoring the pressing ache in her gums and the _irritating_ presence of the clown so smugly beside her, “if it had been Ivy in that situation, or your _girlfriend_ , I would’ve done exactly the same thing. Call it a compulsion.”

“Whatever you say, Toots,” The Joker only keeps grinning, _thrilled_ at her obvious annoyance. He’s the textbook definition of sadomasochism, she’d point it out to his doctors but that went _so_ well last time “…Tell me, did you save me in a bridal carry? With flowers in my hair and rice and all that jazz?”

…But, then, maybe Harley was the exception. She can’t imagine anybody else wanting to do anything but _strangle_ this clown.

“Do you have _any_ idea how hard that’d be?” She snaps, hands clenching so hard on the wheel that she’ll probably have to offer poor Earl several free dinners in _apology_ for this, “you’re a man, presumably in the prime of life. I may be strong, but it would’ve required bending the laws of physics to accomplish that.”

“You’re not a woman,” the Joker’s amusement only grows, fed by her surprised glare like a hyena is fed by rotting meat, “you’re a _bat_. A batty bat who’s gone _batsy_ … And who thinks that _I’m_ in my _prime_.”

She stares at him in (something that she chooses to call) horror. 

“Not helping with the whole ‘not caring’ thing there, Bats…”

She jerks the car again, takes a most _definite_ pleasure in the way that his unsuspecting head _bounces_ off the glass at high speed.

“This isn’t a matter of caring,” she sniffs, as he gives a satisfying yelp and a… Less than satisfying giggle, like he can think of nothing more fun than her repeatedly hurting him in a variety of ways, “I’ve fought you at least once a month for _years_ now, you have to notice physical condition after that period of time.”

“ _Physical condition_?” The Joker chuckles – while, at least, rubbing his head in a way that she’s going to take as a very small kind of victory, “you take _all_ the romance out of it, Batsy.”

She presses her lips together, chooses to interpret it as barely repressed disgust in the face of this… _Thing_ , “there is no romance.”

“There is _some_ romance.”

“There is _no_ romance,” disgust, she can totally project disgust as she clenches her hands harder and harder around the wheel and feels the plastic warp ever so slightly under her grip, “at _all_.”

There’s a long – a few seconds, but that’s long by the Joker’s standards – pause.

Then he slowly leans back in his seat again. Removes his hand from his head, with a _gratifying_ wince, and snickers in a way that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, “methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“I’m not a lady,” she… _Protests_. Finally eases her grip, just a little, to avoid completely snapping the wheel and leaving them stuck out in the middle of nowhere, “and there’s nothing to protest, your position is _ludicrous_.”

“Then,” the Joker offers, with such smugness that she’s tempted to inflict a brain injury on him with her own fists, “why are you giving it the time of _night_?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m _not_.”

The Joker’s grin only widens, cracks, sparkles with hot amusement. It provokes something within her, something angry and low and wrathful and _tempted_ , “you’re giving it right now.”

She considers this, reluctantly, for a second. A short second. A _very_ short second “…Stop talking.”

And the Joker, _truly_ the most obnoxious man or woman or person or _thing_ that she has ever encountered in all the years of her life, only _laughs_ right in her face, “ _make_ me.”

Her immediate response, to _slam_ her foot on the breaks and watch him flail head first into the dashboard, probably isn’t the most mature thing that she’s ever done. She finds it _extremely_ hard to mind, as the Joker comes up spluttering and groaning – clutching his head again with his entire face _flinching_ in pain.

“ _Not_ what I had in mind,” he mutters, when he’s got his breath back. Rubs at his head, scowls, keeps wincing like she’s actually done some _damage_.

“My apologies,” insincerity drips from her voice, sugar sweet. Poor baby, the look on his face is just _too hard_ to resist, “you should’ve made that clearer.”

“I _did_ -“

“You did not,” she continues over him, still so sugar sweet that even Ruth Wayne would stand back in admiration and clap her hands. She hasn’t used this tone since she was a debutante, going to parties only to sneak out after the first half hour in search of far more _edifying_ pursuits. She’s somewhat pleased, from a detective’s point of view, that she remembers the trick so well, “I’m the Bat, not a mind reader. Why on earth should I intimately know the depraved details of your thoughts?”

“Because you _like_ me-“

“Stop saying that,” she- does not snarl, merely allows her voice to return to normal levels of annoyance, “I don’t like or _like_ you. I consider you to be scum, little better than the rest of the waste that populates the fetid underbelly of this city.”

“Ah, but you _want_ me,” the Joker pouts at her, and smiles at her, and manages a weird hybrid of the two that should not be possible on any human-seeming face, “and they’re the same thing.”

“Wanting and liking are _not_ the same thing,” she offers tersely, perusing the anatomical miracle of his expression with an almost scientific curiosity, “lust is simply a physical response, a bodily reaction to certain stimuli. _Liking_ , however-“

The Joker’s eyes have gone wide and gleeful, his hands are clasped together under his chin like he’s just witnessed a miracle.

…Ah.

“-Is an extremely vague term, in any case,” she manages quietly, around her growing horror, and turns back to the wheel with all due speed – fully intending to grab it and get the Joker to Arkham and try to forget _all_ of this with as much speed as humanly possible, “and I don’t approve of vague terms. Now, shut up-“

The Joker’s hand around her wrist is so sudden that she spins to stare at him before she even _thinks_ of shaking him off. His eyes are wide and bright, _all_ of his teeth are showing and he’s still shaking with irresistible glee – the comparison to a Hyena is, again, hard to avoid, “you didn’t deny it.”

“Didn’t deny what?” She asks shortly, and… Continues to stare him down, still not moving to shake him off.

“That you _want_ me,” the delight on his face is hard to bear – but, also, hard to look away from. The Joker is like a car crash, always has been – you want to preserve your humanity, to turn away as fast as possible, but you can never quite summon the willpower to drag yourself from the sight, “you _do_ , don’t you? You _want_ me!”

She almost bites through the inside of her cheek, for a long second.

“Maybe,” but that would do no good, and the blood would probably only _encourage_ him all the more – she takes in a deep breath instead, reminds herself to keep a scientific mind as she _glares_ him right down, “but that only means that I respond to your physical stimuli, nothing more.”

“Nothing less.”

“That makes no _sense_ -“

“Only because you’re in _denial_ , Batsy,” and his smirk is so hot, so _sickening_ , that she feels her grasp on reason crack, crumble, fall away to nothing under the burning pressure screaming in her head, “over how much you want me, over how much you _like_ me-“

And in a moment of madness, so immense and sharp that she’s barely aware of its passing, she _moves_. Arches out of her sweet, swivels smoothly into his lap and _perches_ there – feels his obvious erection pressing up against her, sees the sudden widening of his eyes, _hears_ the sudden catch of his breath.

And feels… Nothing.

(Almost.)

“A physical reaction,” she offers calmly, and is absurdly proud at how her voice doesn’t shake at all – not the tiniest bit, not even for a breath even as he arches up beneath her and gives a low _moan_ , “and nothing more. What else can I do to prove it to you?”

“ _Mm_ ,” the Joker replies, throatily.

And, before she can do anything more than lift her hips slightly in preparation for swivelling away and _forgetting_ all this, _grabs_ her. Slides his long, bony hands around her thighs and _yanks_ so she falls off balance – has to grab his shoulders, push down into him or knock herself out on something painful with her momentum.

They sway together for a second, held like that. She can smell him this close, an oddly _human_ scent of sweat and desire that is nothing like she expected (rack and ruin; blood and bones; chaos and _rot_ right down to the heart). His hands are strangely gently on her hips, his jaw is unexpectedly cool against her cheek. He turns his head, ever so slowly, and his lips-

“ _Prove_ it,” he hisses, right into her ear.

- _Well_.

He isn’t expecting her teeth, right in his lip. His hands tighten in surprise, and then loosen completely. He lets out a breathless laugh, _cackles_ as she forces her tongue into his mouth.

She pins one hand to the Joker’s throat, _holding_ him there with half-strength and half-wild hope, and shoves her other hand down – down, _down_ \- as she devours him. She can distract him, gain the upper hand as she _always_ has before. All she needs is a moment, a moment to find-

_Ah_.

The Joker makes a noise, muffled and joyous, into her mouth at the feeling of her bare against him. She squeezes the hand on his throat in quiet warning, bites his lips to keep him silent. Their world has become a place of flickering impressions, silent but deadly. She notes the ruffle of his hair, the emerging flush of his cheeks, the harsh rise and fall of his chest as if they’ve just been fighting. He tastes so _sharp_ , she can barely believe it. He feels so _alive_ , she can barely help herself.

“ _Bats_ ,” he breathes, into the dead space between their kisses.

She tightens her grip on his throat until he starts spluttering under her fingers, pushes her free hand down – down, _down_ \- again until he’s bucking up into her palm.

The fastenings are awkward, of _course_ they are – she might well have swooned in shock if they’d been anything else, but he’s limp underneath her and she’s always been a girl scout. She draws back a little, stares right into his eyes as she flicks her fingers and sets him free. She’s pretty sure that her face is colourless, her lips flat. 

This is to prove a point, and nothing else.

(Like the point of his claws, clenching through the suit.

Or the point of _lust_ , sharp and warping in her belly.

Or the point of _him_ \- as she tilts her hips down, and he obediently tilts himself _up_ , and they slide into each other on a choking moment that leaves her all _burning_ inside.)

She comes back to herself fully seated on him, her head lolling almost to his shoulder and his breath hot in her ear. There’s a groan vibrating between them, low and gravelly and impossible to trace. She’s going to blame him, though, as always – sit back in one smooth movement, blessing her stomach muscles. Clench her teeth. Narrow her eyes. Tighten her hand around his throat and _move_ while he’s still catching his breath.

This means nothing.

The position is awkward, there’s a _reason_ she hasn’t tried sex in a car since that fumble where she lost her virginity, but life is awkward and the Joker is awkward and this seems _appropriate_. Her thighs start burning quickly, but calm down after the first few thrusts. Her mask catches against the ceiling awkwardly, but she stops noticing the moment that the Joker’s eyes slide closed. Her suit catches, _catches_ , but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t _matter_.

This means nothing.

She expected, not that she ever expected _this_ , the Joker to be louder in bed – wilder, the hurricane barely contained by a bomb shell of madness that he usually is. His fingers pinch even through the suit, yes, but she can already tell that they won’t scar. His breath is warm against her lips, yes, but it’s warm like a caress as opposed to a slap. He’s making noise, yes, but not _angry_ noise – soft noise, lost noise, _worshipful_ noise like she’s some bat-shaped goddess on some grand podium.

This means _nothing_.

She doesn’t close her eyes. She wants to (she _lies_ to herself), but the car crash catches her and drags her back again. He looks at her like he can’t quite believe her, like he wants to spend the rest of his life not quite believing her. She looks at him like he’s a forest fire, like he’s going to kill her and she’s not even going to _mind_. They look at each other, _stare_ at each other, like- _Like_ -

This means _nothing_.

And the Joker grunts, hot and sudden.

_Nothing_.

And her thighs tremble, hot and fast. 

_Nothing_.

And he moans, she grits her teeth. He sighs, she keeps her eyes resolutely open. He breathes ever so tender into her ear, she hisses a harsh ( _truthful_ ) reply out through her nose. They shudder, they shake, _they_.

_Nothing_ -

And-

( _Everything_.)

The Joker comes first, with a noise like he’s dying, but she’s only a moment behind. One- two more thrusts sends her trembling - _ah_ \- over the edge. Mind buzzing, chest heaving, limbs loose and relaxed in a way that they haven’t been… Well, since long before they started all this. 

_Mm_.

She forces her eyes half-open, from where she was lolling yet again, to see the Joker watching her keenly. She debates flipping him off, but stops at the last moment. Breathes instead, reminds herself of who she is.

Who she is.

Who she _is_.

“Next time,” she growls, when she’s finally got her breath back – sweat making her hair stick to her scalp under the cowl, trembles still carrying through her limbs until she feels half like a martini, “we’re using a condom.”

“Next time?” And, yet again, she only realizes her slip when the Joker looks up at her with delight – lips stretching into a wide smile, eyes flashing with an emotion that she feels no particular inclination to name, “oh, Bats, I didn’t know that you _cared_.”

This time, at least, she feels _entirely_ justified in knocking him brusquely out against the window instead of doing anything so _stupid_ as chasing that breath back down his throat. It’s for the best, really – as she straightens, and huffs, and gets back to herself again with only the _slightest_ twinge of something that she can’t quite name.

**Author's Note:**

> It's worth noting that this isn't the DIRECT prequel to Bless the Child. It does, however, contribute to the events of it.


End file.
